


A John Watson Guide To Self Love

by CaptainNautical



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Injury, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Kidnapped John Watson, M/M, Poor John, Pre-Slash, Scarred John Watson, Snogging, Violence, self hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22083073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainNautical/pseuds/CaptainNautical
Summary: John is kidnapped by three idiots that don’t know what they’re doing. The damage they cause to John is life changing. He is left to navigate this new part of his life with some advice from his therapist: Be kind to yourself.(Originally posted in a one shot work but I liked it so much I wanted to expand on it)
Relationships: John Watson/ Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 89





	1. The three stooges

**Author's Note:**

> This gets a little gruesome so be wary if you’re sensitive to blood and violence.

“You ‘it ‘em too hard, Steve.” 

“He’s bleedin all over the fuckin floor, mate, you gotta do sometin about it.”

“Had to go and lose ya fuckin tempa again. The fuck we gonna do when that Holmes bloke sees how bad you messed ‘im up?”

“Will you two shut the fuck up? Jesus. I’m trying to think... Bobby go get your sewing kit.”

“What for?” 

“You sew don’t ya?” 

“Yea sure I do, but I aint gonna sew no man back up!” 

“Would you rather him die and have us get fuck all out of this?” 

“Well fuck, Steve, it aint Bobby’s fault you beat the shit out of the guy with all yer rings on.” 

“I said shut up, Frank! Bobby! Stitch this fucker up or you’ll both end up lookin like him. You hear me?”

“Aye...”

“Yea Steve we hear ya...”

——

John heard him from where he was face down on an unfamiliar tiled floor. It was an old bathroom in a shitty house. 

At least... he thought it was. Or maybe it was a basement room? Had they taken him into or out of the bathroom? Where was he again?

Oh right: He was bleeding out onto a tile in a bathroom/regular room. He had gotten cheeky with the guy in charge of his kidnapping and pushed one too many buttons. Turned out for lucky old John the guy had a temper. 

And a lot of expensive, sharp, rings. 

He hit John a few times and John had spat in his eye and told him to fuck himself. John was hit some more and the doctor had started laughing and calling him pathetic. 

He was drunk really. The adrenaline of being kidnapped and tied up with the three stooges of the crime world had gone to his head and he couldn’t shut himself up. He was angry too, though. Maybe he even wanted a beating for being stupid enough to be caught off guard in a scary alley.

The biggest and scariest stooge had wailed on John so hard the doctor forgot his name. He felt a sharp rock dig into his cheekbone. He felt his body being jerked this way and that as a new part of his face was ripped open by a silver band and a 10k diamond studded knuckle. 

He hit the floor hard. He couldn’t remember much except the previous conversation and the sensation of hands around his shoulders and in his hair. 

The two other stooges, Bobby and Frank, propped John up against the wall. Frank tugged on John’s hair until his neck craned back far enough for his head to stay up on its own. 

“Fuck,” Frank breathed, “we’re never gonna get paid now. Look at this idiots face. It’s fucking fallin off.” 

John’s head lolled and his eyes tried to open. He could only see a blurry outline of the two kneeling in front of him. 

“Stop it, Frank.” Bobby was rummaging around in a tool box on the ground next to him. “I’m gonna fix it. I’m gonna fix it.”

John fell into blackness a few moments after. 

——

He came back to a tugging sensation. John’s eyes once again tried to flutter open. Something was blocking them. He moved to rub whatever it was away but remembered faintly that his hands were tied behind his back. He settled on blinking until whatever it was was gone. 

When he could see a tiny bit better (his reality still a little blurry with red around the corners of his vision) he was met with Bobby’s sweaty, concentrating face. 

John grunted and flinched backwards. 

“Stay still, Mr. Watson,” Bobby said quietly. His breath smelled like tobacco and chewing gum. A smell John was familiar with. “You don’t wanna move while I’m doin this.”

John slowly became aware of a burning sensation right where Bobby was focusing his attention. The more the tugging, burning, feeling went on the more John became aware of his situation.

Bobby was cutting some string every once and a while. When he pulled back John caught sight of a bloody needle between two bare fingers. 

John made another noise in the back of his throat. 

They were stitching his face back up with a fucking sewing kit. 

“M... wait. Wait,” John rasped. It was hard to speak. His tongue felt heavy as panic and pain poured through him like some sort of thick honey. “...’m a- a-am a doctor.” John slurred. “Let me. Please.”

Bobby leaned back and looked at John. His head turned quickly.

“Jesus, Frank, we forgot he was a doctor!” Stooge number three shouted. Frank was sitting on the lip of a decrepit looking bathtub inspecting his fingernails. He shrugged in reply. 

“We aint lettin him loose. Just finish sewin those gashes.” Frank chewed on a fingernail. 

John’s eyes met Bobby’s. John couldn’t really see out of his left eye but they met the other man’s all the same. Bobby looked terrified. He was still such a young, stupid, kid. 

“L-listen I...” John swallowed. His saliva tasted like copper. “It’ll get infected an... and they’ll just tear if you don’t-“

“Hey, shut up!“ the first stooge, Steve, had re-entered the bathroom. “Bobby you finish stitchin him up. If he aint out when your done you knock him out.”

Bobby’s hands were shaking. John stared at him, his vision wavering, and pleaded silently. The kid took a deep breath and shook his head. 

“Sorry, Dr. Watson.” Bobby looked down and grabbed a different needle. “S your fault, really...” he threaded the string through the loop, “If you had just kept your mouth shut.” He trailed off after knotting the first end of the string. 

Bobby pushed his fingers into John’s hair and shoved him back straight and still against the wall. John blacked out when the needle was pushed through his cheek.

——

“Oh good it looks like he’s wakin up. That’ll be perfect for the photo.” John could just barely hear one of the stooges say. He didn’t know which it was. It sounded like Steve. Maybe. Was that even his name? 

He felt his head being moved. There was a body next to him brushing against his side. Wait, where was he? 

John’s eyes fluttered open. They had moved him from his last residence. Now he was kneeling on the ground with his arms up. He could feel the bonds around his wrists and the fact that he was still in the bathroom told him they had tied him up against a towel rack. He was hanging there limp with his wrists over the metal rack. John thought of a television show he’d watched where some guy was trapped by a witch and chained to a wall with iron shackles. Zip ties weren’t exactly iron and these three weren’t witches, but John felt the same. 

He blinked slowly and groggily at the tile below him. His clothes were filthy and covered in dried blood. For some reason John couldn’t get himself to lift his head. It felt heavy and rigid. Before he could even get a chance to try someone put their hand in his hair and yanked him upwards.

There was a terrible popping noise with the sharp movement.

“Careful!” Bobby shouted. 

John moaned, his eyes squeezing shut as pain shot up his cheek and along his jaw. Something had broken off of John. It felt like it was splitting his face apart right under his left eye. 

“Those stitches are fragile, Frank. They gotta hold until we’re finished with all this.” Bobby was on one knee. He picked up something rigid and dark red off the ground. He made a small gagging noise. “Oh fuck that’s disgusting.” He complained. 

Frank, still holding John’s head back, groaned. 

“Oh, shut up. Just take your pictures, Steve. He looks nice and pretty for ya.” Frank demonstrated this by lifting John’s head by his hair some more. John hissed and struggled a little. 

Steve came over and crouched down in front of them. He pushed Bobby out of the way and the young kid peered over the big guys shoulder as Steve produced a cell phone and turned it sideways. They looked like parents taking a school picture. 

“Yeah, beautiful.” Steve chuckled. He snapped the pictures. The dickhead had the ringer on and John heard just how many were being taken. He tried to look defiant. No doubt these were being sent to Sherlock or someone at the yard that would end up showing Sherlock. His heart ached a bit at the thought. He wondered how bad it was…

“Turn em to the side.” Steve said, looking at his phone. 

Frank pushed at the side of John’s head and made him stay there. He tilted John’s chin up a bit as if he were a prize he had won. 

“Fuck, Bobby. You sure made gruesome work of that eye didn’t you?” 

“He’s alive aint he? You’re the one that fucked him up.” Bobby was stroking underneath his eye absently.

John blinked and made a slight noise. He needed to know what he looked like. The doctor went to speak, to even just move his lips, and found they weren’t listening to him. They felt numb and heavy too. It was strange. It felt like his lip was being pulled up by an invisible hook. 

His heavy tongue wouldn’t work for him either. God, none of his face was answering him. He couldn’t even bring his eyebrows together to express his inner concern.

He must have looked it though because Steve was laughing at him. He pressed on his phone again and stood up. Steve was taking a video.

“See the beautiful thing is,” he reached out and cupped John’s jaw. John tried to shake him away but couldn’t pull far enough.

“He don’t even know what he looks like.” Steve continued, smiling behind the camera as he tilted John’s head this way and that. It felt like John was made of something terribly fragile. Every drag of the head made his nerves scream at him. Please god don’t move, they yelled. 

“It’s alright though,” Steve dropped John’s head and the doctor slumped back downward. “He’ll see soon enough.”

He tapped on the phone again and chuckled to himself. Frank rolled his eyes and Bobby sat himself on the lip of the bathtub. He looked anxious and his eyes were looking anywhere but at John. 

John heard the sound of a few texts being sent. Distantly he thought how stupid these three were. Sherlock would track the phone’s location in an instant. 

With his face throbbing and his body trembling against his bonds, John looked down at the bloody tile below him. He wasn’t sure he wanted Sherlock to come. Something was eating away at John’s insides. What the fuck did he look like?

John’s head started to swim as pain slowly returned to his senses. His whole face started to throb. It was sharp and piercing. The worst of it came from his lips. He was being dragged under. He let himself fall. 

Down, down, down.

Until the pain was nothing but a dream.

—— 

A dream he was woken up from. 

It was dark in the bathroom. The only light that came in was from under the crack in the door but even that looked obscured somehow. 

John had woken up to a loud banging sound. There were footsteps above him and shouting and the sharp, familiar sound of a gunshot. A lot more shouting and demands followed this but John couldn’t keep track of much else. 

He felt heavy and sore. His head seemed to weigh a thousand pounds and it felt as though someone were slowly running knives up and down his face. 

Every once and awhile John was startled out of his stupor by a faint splashing noise. When he finally gathered enough sense to look for the source he saw a small pool of blood. Several small pools of blood. His face was bleeding. 

John’s vision swam against the tile floor and he closed his eyes. He heard thumping and the sound of heavy things being lifted and moved. 

The rest felt a lot like the puddles below him. There was a lot spread out in small bursts. 

First there was the door being kicked in. John only heard the sound and felt the light on his skin. He blinked heavily. 

Then there was someone breathing his name. It sounded like someone had punched this person in the gut. This person knelt in front of John. They lowered their head to get into John’s slumped over line of sight. John tried to remember his name as this person said his own name again. Gavin… Graham… Greg. That was the one. 

Then there was this:

“Where, Lestrade?” 

“Sherlock, listen you-“

“Tell me.”

“Sherlock I’m trying to warn-“

“Greg! Fucking let me figure it out or tell me where to go. I know you found him. I know it’s bad. I saw the fucking pictures too! Now tell me where those imbeciles kept him.” 

Then it was quiet. 

John felt the world go very still. Someone else was kneeling in front of him now. It was harder to hear this person say his name. The voice was deep and familiar but John felt like he was floating in a new kind of world altogether. 

His doctor brain told him he had lost a lot of blood and suffered a lot of blunt force trauma. He was bound to be groggy and barely there right now. He didn’t know what kind of damage had been done to his face, but he knew it wasn’t helping. Any kind of infection could be affecting him now. 

His John Watson brain told him he was sinking through the floor. The person in front of him was barely there. If anything this person was in the way.

Let me sink, he thought, I’m tired of treading. 

“John.” 

The world sped back up. There was an extremely gentle hand pushing the bottom of his chin upwards. It was helping him do what he was trying to do in the first place. John was able to look up at Sherlock.

In an instant he knew how bad he must have looked. Sherlock was doing a hell of a job trying to hide it from the man, but John knew him too well. Even in this dreamy state he could see the fear in his eyes. 

The detectives eyes were flickering all over John’s face. They gathered up as much information as they could. Or at least as much as they wanted to. 

John had started trembling without knowing it. Wordlessly Sherlock sat up. He lowered John’s head gently and took his hand away. Sherlock then called for someone and the same man from before entered the room. Greg. It was Greg. Right. 

Together they undid John’s zip ties. Once he was freed from the position Sherlock pressed a hand on John’s chest. The doctor slumped forwards and let out a moan as his shoulders creaked and groaned back into their normal resting position. He felt another pair of hands on him helping his arms down as Sherlock slowly convinced John’s body to turn around. 

There was noise all around him. He heard a lot of people talking all at once during this movement of his sore body. All of them were pushed to one side of the room by Sherlock’s loud and deep voice. He heard a couple names and sounds he remembered, but it didn’t really matter. Sherlock. Sherlock. 

“Sh-“ John tried. He was blinking up at his partner who had finally got him to lie down on his back. His head was resting in Sherlock’s lap. The man nodded his head and went to stroke John’s cheek. Sherlock’s fingers hesitated in the air. John almost choked. “Sherl-“ He coughed only slightly. It was enough to make his face contort and writhe in pain. 

“Mnh-“ 

“Shh, John. Don’t say anything.” 

There were other hands on him now. The voices had started back up again. Paramedics were undoing his shirt and looking at his face. One of them put a hand over her mouth. Another gently asked Sherlock to move. He refused. They asked him again, insisting, and this time John refused. 

“I know he’s your partner but we really need to make sure the wounds on his face are-“

John tried to lift his hand when he felt Sherlock backing up from him. He made a pitiful noise and rolled his eyes, trying to search for Sherlock who had started drifting from his line of sight.

Sherlock and the paramedic exchanged a look before Sherlock was right back to where he was. 

“Here, John. Here.” He carded his fingers through John’s matted and sweaty hair. “I’m right here, love.”

John hummed in the back of his throat. He felt himself start to drift away again. Slowly he started seeping through the floor. 

“M be ‘ri back…” he mumbled almost inaudibly and unaware of how slurred his words were. Sherlock looked at him confused, until John’s eyes slipped shut and sank fully under.


	2. Making friends

“I wanted to try something I know you’re going to think is silly.” His therapist, the newest of the bunch, said to John after taking a sip of her tea. 

She was the sort to have tea and make you drink it with her during a session. She sat cross legged on her cozy looking arm chair and even though she was at least forty, she looked and acted as if she were ten years younger. John liked her because she made him laugh. Her name was Margot. John was allowed to call her Marg. She wore thick rimmed glasses and pushed her straight black hair behind her ears. Behind those glasses lay a pair of serious looking eyes. She was a gentle person with a bubbly attitude, but there was something about her that told you that wasn’t all of her. John supposed this was another reason he liked Marg. 

John held his mug in both of his hands and set it on his lap. He raised his eyebrows and looked at her. 

“I’m thrilled,” he said looking out the window next to him. 

He wasn’t used to his voice yet. It was a bit raspier and deliberate. He had to think about how to sound out his words before vocalising. I’m thrilled sounded more like ‘i’m… th-rill-ed’. It was frustrating but he knew not to expect much progress two weeks after being let out of the hospital. He had a two week stay in that prison and he had been back home in the flat for about the same amount of time now. Thankfully he had started seeing Margot before all of this. She had been warned of his changed appearance by a text from Sherlock (who wasn’t supposed to have her number). John was surprised to see that she only lingered on the healing scars for a moment at most. She took all of him in, nodded, and asked what kind of tea he’d like today. 

“Yes well I’m not pulling your teeth Johnathan.” She peered over her glasses at him with a raised eyebrow. Margot unfolded her legs and walked around her chair to the pot of tea. “I’m in the mood for coffee. Would you like coffee?” She had a little keurig on the desk she was at that moment. Margot had an assortment of teas and coffee. This part of her home served as her office and study. She had told John that she would live in here if her wife didn’t make her come out once and a while. 

“No, thank you though.” John replied. He watched her make her coffee and add so much sugar John almost retched at the thought of it. 

“Okay, anyways.” She said, stirring with her spoon as she sat back down and folded her legs back up. “You’ve heard of positive affirmations before, yes?” Margot had switched her coffee for a little notebook. She balanced it on her right knee and held her pen in her left. 

John nodded his head. 

“Well I think they’re full of shit,” said Margot.

John chuckled down at his mug. His mug had ‘world's best doctor’ written on it. It was Margot’s of course, but she always gave it to John when he had his sessions. 

“I think a lot of affirmations are just people convincing themselves to get off the sofa. But,” she paused to take a sip, “I don’t think that positive language is full of shit. Negativity always makes a monster out of us.” Margot pushed her glasses back and looked at John. She paused and thought for a moment before continuing. “I always think our worst enemy is ourselves. Don’t you think?” 

John looked up with his eyes at Margot. He hummed slightly before lifting his head and looking past her. Of course he agreed. He knew this song and dance, though. So did Margot. 

“Yes. I know for a fact that we're the nastiest to ourselves. There’s no one in our head to argue with but us.” 

“You don’t have to convince me so much.” John finally said. He looked at her and took a sip. “You can tell me what it is.”

Margot sighed exasperatingly and John smiled a bit. 

“You never let me make a lesson out of it, Johnathan.” She shook her head and wrote something on her pad of paper. ‘Stubborn arse’ she wrote just for John to read upside down. John smiled into his tea silently. 

“I want you to practice being kind to yourself.” She finally said. 

John pursed his lips and stopped after a small amount of pain twinged up the corner of his mouth. 

“Every time you say something nasty to yourself, I want you to apologize.” 

John snorted a little.

“Johnathan.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, sighing and putting down the mug, “who says I’m putting myself down?”

“I may wear thick glasses, John, but I’m not blind.” She smiled one of her kind, gentle things. Usually John hated that look. He knew she meant hers. John looked away after a moment. Once again he looked out the window. 

Very faintly he could see his reflection. The clouds were rolling across Margot’s backyard and every once and a while the sun would fade and he could see that person looking back at him. He frightened himself, really. Whenever he flicked on the light to the bathroom he had to stop himself from flinching. 

When they had found him in that old cellar bathroom John looked like frankenstein. Pieces of his face were sewn together so crudely the ‘stitches’ were barely hanging on. The surgeon had explained to John that it was a miracle he was alive, really. They had found him in time to stop the infections from growing too strong. 

He had to live blind for the first week in the hospital. His entire face was covered in bandages. Sherlock and him had a running joke that he was the invisible man; when they peeled away all the gauze he’d disappear entirely.

If only. 

He made Sherlock leave for the first reveal of his face. The nurse carefully unraveled everything and checked for a long time to make sure everything was at an ok place. John had thanked him and waited to be alone to open his phone and look at himself. 

The first thing he noticed was how grey he looked. His already usually darker eye bags were flushed a deep red that had tinges of blue around his tear ducts. His right eye was spared of any damage. His left eye was not so lucky. An angry red line dotted with stitches and the ghost of Bobby’s horrible stitches ran right across his upper eyelid. John’s eye would permanently squint just a bit. It would get better once the stitches healed, but he would not be able to open it fully like his right. Branching off the corner of that eye was another line with more remnants of doctor Bobby. 

Two more lines were on both of his cheekbones running down towards his cheek. The one on the left snaked higher up and into the corner of his nose. The black stitches were angry and sore. John remembered giving himself another dose of painkillers before inspecting himself further.

He finally looked at the part he hated the most. His lips were cut in two different places. The first line of stitches were almost perfectly in line with the middle of his bottom lip. They cris-crossed down and hooked under his chin just a bit. The line of stitches and wound on his upper lip made him want to puke. They had just barely managed to fix the damage done by his kidnappers here. Bobby must have really panicked with John’s upper lip.

At the top right corner, John’s lip was pulled upwards by what looked like an invisible hook. Even when he tried to press his lips together, there was still a small gap that he could not close. The stitches made their way up to the middle of his cheek. He was permanently scowling. His face in a perpetual snarl that was never actually there. 

John stared out into space for an hour. He just sat there wordlessly. There was nothing going through his mind. Nothing but the faint sound of blood splashing down onto an old tile floor, and the numbing tug of a needle threading through his lip.   
  


John blinked a bit and looked back at Margot. She was waiting patiently and stirring her coffee. 

“What am I supposed to do? Just call myself beautiful all the time?” He said, quieter than he imagined. 

Margot continued to look at him. In fact a lot longer than John liked. He looked away. 

“Yes,” she said simply. “Be kind to yourself. If you wouldn’t say it to me…” She thought a moment. “If you wouldn’t say it to Sherlock, don’t say it to yourself.” 

John met her eyes again. 

“I think it’s about time you were friends with yourself.” Margot got up and squeezed John’s knee gently. “Some more tea?”

John nodded, before he saw she was facing away from him already. “Ta.” He murmured. 

  
  


“Marg says I need to make friends with myself,” John said over a box of chinese takeaway. He was sitting at the dining table facing the telly. A rugby match was on and his laptop was open and sitting back on the table. John had one foot up on the chair. He rested his chin on his knee and hooked his arm around the back of the chair he leant on to get at his food. 

Sherlock leaned in from the kitchen, wearing his full lab suit with something in between the grasp of the tongs he held. He didn’t bother to push up his goggles while he looked at John. When he had looked enough Sherlock turned back to the makeshift lab. 

“You think it’s silly.” He stated, dropping the surprisingly heavy sounding object on the table and into glass container. 

“Oh for fuck-!” John said at the telly angrily. Sherlock could hear a whistle being blown in the background but ignored it. He only really cared about the sport if John were the one playing it. John was silent for a moment and Sherlock looked up to see him pressing gently on his face. 

_Aggravated movement. Still not used to the restrictions of emoting._

“Yeah.” John said to answer Sherlock’s question. He sullenly picked at his food with his chopsticks. “Well, no…” He sighed, looking up at the screen. “I’ve just never thought of being friends with myself. ‘S never crossed my mind.” 

John chewed carefully. He was told not to eat just on the one good side of his mouth, but he was sore today. The chopsticks at least gave him a reason to eat slower. He was shit at eating with them in the first place. 

“I can’t say I have either.” Sherlock said, leaning down and looking at his experiment closely. “Though I think i’d consider myself a friend. I spend enough time with myself in my head.” Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “I can’t say that of all my life, though.” 

“What do you think changed it?” 

“Well, I met you.” 

John looked up from his food. He blinked over at Sherlock who had not looked up from what he was doing. The man was always doing that: Always saying things so honest and full of love that it took John’s breath away. 

All he did in reply was smile and continue what he was doing. Sherlock, though he didn’t make it known, had caught John’s smile. It was a rare commodity these days. 

John would give it some thought. 

_Be nice_ , he thought to himself, _It’s just us in here._

John made a slight noise when his chopsticks bumped into the side of his lip. Bloody eye still couldn’t make things out right. He put down the takeaway and leaned his chin on his knee again

Sherlock had sat up from where he was. John could see him out of the corner of his eye.

_Sorry_ , he thought hesitantly. He wasn’t sure if it was to himself, to Marg, or to Sherlock. John hoped it was the former. He didn’t believe it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw im not a therapist so take the advice given however you want to  
> I also just felt the need to say that in case something written isn’t completely accurate ok thanks bye


	3. What John's scars look like (a drawing by urs truly)

I'm not super sure how images work on here but I think I have this so it's going to my twitter post?? Anyways I drew what I'm thinking John's scars look like in this fic. Right now in the fic they're a little more raw and still have some stitches to be healed. Also my drawing is like super young John but you know shrugging emoji


	4. Snarl

_ Do we need groceries? _

_ You know I don’t pay attention to that. SH _

_ Take that as a yes.  _

_ Pick up a new thing of bleach while you’re at Tesco. Please and thank you. SH _

_ Who said I was going to Tesco? And why do you need it? _

John stared at his phone for a response that never came. He sighed and leaned back in his seat on the bus. A crowd of people started swarming on and John lifted his head. There was a mother a little kid that looked about six or seven. The little girl was tugging on her tired mom’s sleeve while the woman tried to balance what looked like a box of food from a bakery. John looked around himself.

There were two people deep in a conversation about something that sounded way too complicated to keep up with to his right. To his left were a row of three almost identical looking Londoners with their headphones in and bags resting on their lap, just trying to get home after a long work day. In front of him was a guy completely passed out and probably missing his stop. Next to him were a few other people gently edging away from him as he lolled his head from side to side with the sway of the bus. 

John cleared his throat and stood up. He nodded his head in the direction of his seat to the mom and she almost deflated with relief. ‘Thank you’ she mouthed before looking down at the little girl. 

“Go sit right there, love.” She pushed her on the back gently as they both squeezed past John and the other travelers. John had been sitting on an end seat. He held onto the rail next to the door and looked down at his phone as if anyone were going to be texting him besides Sherlock. 

He heard some whispering from the mother and daughter. The little kid that had been loud and hyper coming onto the bus was sitting still (mostly because the mom had placed the box of food on her lap) and quiet. John glanced over and saw the little girl staring up at John with big little eyes. John blinked. 

The mom was now on the phone standing and holding onto the overhead bar. She was looking the opposite way of John and trying to see what stop they were at. The little kid cocked her head to the side as she looked at John. John looked ahead of him awkwardly. 

After feeling the intense stare still on him he chanced another look. This time the little girl was scowling at him. She was trying to lift up her lips like how John’s was. She squinted her one eye (which was more of a wink really) and snarled at him before smiling brightly and giggling. John blinked again, his expression blank. With wide eyes he looked at the door of the bus, and saw that same person looking back at him in his reflection. 

_ At least she’s not scared _ , John said to himself. 

He heard a small voice snarling again to his right. John sighed and looked over. Now she had gone and hooked her finger under her lip. She was pulling it up and making what sounded like a pirate growl at John. Her ruddy cheeks were bright red just like her hair and John couldn’t help but smirk a little bit. 

He looked at the mom. She was still facing the other way on her phone. John gave the little girl a snarl. He bared his teeth on one side pressed his eyebrows downwards. 

The little girl's eyes went wide with sudden fear. John’s face fell instantly. The bus sighed to a stop, the passengers swaying in unison as the tension was let out of the brake. John got off as soon as he saw the pair of little eyes glaze over with tears. 

_ Made a little kid cry.  _

_ Good job. Proud of you. SH _

_ Sherlock.  _

_ What happened? SH _

It was John’s turn to not reply. He pressed the one good side of his mouth together and looked up from his phone. That reflection was looking at him again.

_ Be nice,  _ a voice said.

He turned 90 degrees and started walking. 

_ What else from Tesco? _

“Don’t tell me why you needed this.” John said as he unloaded the bleach from the shopping bag. Sherlock looked up from his chair and hummed. “Don’t even want to imagine the horrid things you could do with that in my kitchen.” 

“Oh it’s  _ your  _ kitchen?” Sherlock got up and strode over to the table. He placed both hands on the edge and rested on it there. 

“Yeah,” John said, making eye contact with Sherlock as he closed the refrigerator. “I’ve bloody well earned it from cleaning up after you. Plus, I cook the most.” 

Sherlock tilted his head back dramatically and grabbed the bleach off the table. “If we’re using that metric it’s Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen.” 

“It’s the Queen's kitchen, itn’t it?” John replied, grabbing a loaf of bread out of the bag. Sherlock huffed out a laugh and John grinned a bit. “Thanks so much for your help, by the way.” John said sarcastically.

“Why? I didn’t do anything.” Sherlock replied distantly, reading the label on the back of the bleach bottle. 

John sighed and rolled his eyes. 

After he was done putting away the groceries John scratched his head and stood in the middle of the kitchen. He was thinking about what he should do now. Being home with nothing to do for two weeks was honestly exhausting for him. His life was so  _ go, go, go _ , that once he actually had the free time to do something, he never really knew what that something was. 

Sherlock must have caught sight of him just standing there. He had gone back to his chair and was sitting horizontal over it with his laptop on his legs. 

“How er… how was your appointment?” He said a bit awkwardly. John blinked and mentally shook himself. He nodded his head and pressed the button on the kettle as if that was what he was doing the whole time. 

“Yeah, fine. Went fine.” He mumbled. 

Sherlock looked over again. John had left for another doctor’s appointment that afternoon. Of all the topics he had to pick it sure got a big response from John. 

John wordlessly poured two cups of tea. He came out and set one down next to Sherlock and brushed his fingers against the back of the detectives neck as he walked past him and sat on the sofa. Sherlock was smiling but facing the wrong way for the doctor to see. 

It was quiet except for the music coming up from Mrs. Hudson’s flat. The two were starting to regret showing her how to use spotify. It was fine for the most part but every once and awhile they were reminded of how early she woke up with the sound of classic rock coming from under them. Mrs. Hudson had quite the range in taste, to both men’s surprise. 

Right now she was listening to Linger by The Cranberries. 

It was kind of pleasant really. John drank tea and tried to write on his laptop while Sherlock sat and typed on his own computer in his chair. 

At some point Sherlock had gotten up and sat himself down next to John. He was done with whatever he was doing and had decided that John would be as well. Sherlock closed John’s laptop and set it down on the coffee table. John was about to protest before Sherlock handed him the tv remote and settled himself down on the sofa. Sherlock laid himself down and placed his head in John’s lap. John rolled his eyes a little before settling back himself and flipping on the tv. 

They ended up watching a marathon of Star Trek reruns. John kept Sherlock from quipping at all the science talk by running his fingers through his hair. At some point John had gotten up to get a beer for himself, water for Sherlock and some snacks for them both. He was currently eating popcorn very slowly and feeding Sherlock absentmindedly every once and awhile. Sherlock was now on his side facing the screen and actually watching the show for once. It was all terribly soft and warm. John felt content. 

He stroked Sherlock’s hair lazily. John always liked scratching at the back of Sherlock’s head. It made the man curl up just a tiny bit and close his eyes. Everytime John scratched and pushed on his head just a bit in the right spot, Sherlock would go boneless. Even now when he had done it a hundred times tonight.

This time, however, Sherlock hummed in the back of his throat and arched his neck a bit. It sent a shock up John’s legs. The detective hummed again and tilted his head forward. 

“Stop that,” the deep baritone said. John licked his bottom lip a bit and smiled. He let his fingers trail down Sherlock’s nape and run across the small hairs there. Sherlock shivered. 

“Stop what?” John said innocently. 

Sherlock made a frustrated noise. John chuckled a little and rubbed his fingers under Sherlock’s ear. 

“John,” Sherlock complained, rolling forward just a little bit. 

“Oh stop,” John teased, deliberately running his nails a bit harder all the way up Sherlock’s skull. 

Sherlock moaned and John was suddenly breathless. The detective arched his back and rolled his head around to look up at John. His eyes were drooping a bit. His lips were parted ever so slightly and John felt that same shock run up his inner thigh as Sherlock stared at him with a hungry gaze. 

Sherlock was suddenly moving. He sat up and shifted around until before either of them knew it Sherlock was straddling John. His knees were pressed on either side of the man’s hips as he sat back on his lap. John had his hands loosely around Sherlock’s own hips as the detective wrapped his arms around John’s neck. 

Soft lips were pressing at the bottom of John’s neck. John sighed softly and leaned his head back. Sherlock threaded his fingers through John’s short hair as he kissed his way up the side of his doctor’s neck. He kissed and sucked and even nipped at the protest of John until he reached John’s face. 

The two stared and one another fondly for a moment. John ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s back and Sherlock pressed himself a bit closer to John. Sherlock moved his hips a bit just to let John feel it and the man made a small noise in response. 

“Fuck, Sherlock…” he breathed out. John was staring at Sherlock’s cupid bow lips. All the kissing and teasing Sherlock had done turned them just a tinge more red. John loved the way they looked after they had been kissing for a while. The corners and edges would get red and sore looking. John liked biting just a bit, and Sherlock loved the effect. It made the taller man look like he was pouting a bit, his sore lip hanging limp as John devoured him. 

Sherlock smirked a little and leaned forward to press those lips against John’s. John blinked quickly. 

He pulled his head back. 

John did it so instantly Sherlock was surprised and opened his eyes. He raised his eyebrows just a bit.

John opened his mouth to say something. Sherlock, who’s normal brain turned off when he was hard, took that as a sign and pressed himself forward again. John turned his head and flinched backwards at the same time. Sherlock pulled back slowly. He looked hurt. John had rejected him. 

“I-“ John was cut off by Sherlock’s deducing stare. He always knew when the other had started. His eyes would flick very slightly back and forth as if he were a laser beam scanning John inside and out. His bright, intense, eyes looked all over John’s face and lingered in every crease and fold. 

John squirmed, the corners of his mouth twitching. He moved quickly. John pressed his hands around Sherlock tighter and lifted both of them off the sofa only to turn and deposit Sherlock where he was just sitting. 

John looked at the floor. His hands were balled into fists at his side and took a step to the right awkwardly. He opened his mouth, took a nervous step to the left, and looked up. When he met Sherlock’s concerned and silent gaze he closed his mouth again. John’s jaw worked at the corners and he swallowed.

“Sorry,” he rasped curtly before turning and walking out of the room. 

John ignored the funny sway in his step. If he limped all the way to their shared bedroom, John wouldn’t admit it. It was  _ not _ his left leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m American and I used to use English terms in my descriptions but it felt like it was a little forced so i’m just gonna keep most of them out entirely. Just in case I have any readers from The UK or elsewhere... Anyways thanks for readin as always


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